


Waiting Underneath the Mistletoe

by internalunrest



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Christmas, Friends to Lovers, Holidays, M/M, Minor Zayn Malik/Liam Payne, Mistletoe, Mutual Pining, also what is probably the gentlest pining on this website, everyone else is an unnamed background character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-02 18:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8677915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internalunrest/pseuds/internalunrest
Summary: A Christmas party featuring two stupid boys in love, ridiculous amounts of mistletoe, and a few too many choice holiday beverages.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wordsaboutfeelings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsaboutfeelings/gifts).



> Written for mtpelionbliss. I hope I did justice to your prompt!  
> Title from the song All I Want for Christmas Is You, because why not tbh
> 
> 12/19/16 - I just realized that some formatting got lost in the move onto ao3 so i'm fixing it!! so sorry!

“Oh, come _on,_ Liam, I thought you were joking. You can’t be serious!” Louis grumbles, his voice growing steadily higher in pitch. In response, Liam rolls his eyes for what has to be the fifth time since they walked in the door, but he’s laughing, which means he’s not taking Louis seriously, when Louis is being completely, _one-hundred percent serious._

 

He makes a face at the jumper in Liam’s hand. Liam eyes the (truly offensive) garment, and then drapes it over his arm before he continues looking through the rack.

 

“I told you, I’m not paying for one of these. You can’t make me do it,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He knows he’s acting childish, but it’s warranted given the circumstances. He’s being bullied, _pressured_ into this. “You’re bullying me,” he mutters, holding his petulant stance instead of following Liam down the aisle of ugly christmas jumpers. “This is peer pressure.”

 

Liam snorts as he pulls another option from the rack. This one is truly horrendous (would horrifying be more accurate?). It’s got what looks like a gallon of glitter glue on it, which acts as the ornaments to the tree. Louis thinks it might even light up, but he’s afraid to get too close. It’s _that_ ugly. Liam adds it to the growing pile on his arm. “It’s not. It’ll be fun, Lou, c’mon. It’s a themed party, you have to participate or you’ll just look silly.”

 

“Nobody’s gonna care if I participate, man, please don’t make me wear one of those. I’ll never forgive you.”

 

He tries to keep his expression serious, but Liam glances over and his face is starting to look sad, oh god. Louis always feels like an arsehole when Liam makes that face and it’s Louis’ fault. 

 

“We’ll all be doing it too, and Zayn is so excited, you gotta do it.”

 

Louis grunts. “There’s no way he’s excited about something this atrocious - it goes against everything he stands for as a person! He’s too trendy for an ugly jumper,” he argues, though he can feel his resolve slipping a bit.

 

“He won’t admit it, of course, but he’s the one who suggested it in the first place. I _know_ he’s excited. Just put on your big boy pants and join, please?” 

 

Louis watches as Liam reaches the end of the rack and begins to walk back over to him. There are about a half million jumpers on his arm (okay, maybe now Louis is exaggerating, but there are a lot of them). He sifts through the pile and pulls out almost half of them, holding them out for Louis to take. 

 

“Do it for me?”

 

Louis stares him down for a few solid moments, but he knows he’s lost this battle. “Fine,” he agrees, reluctantly taking hold of the hangers. “Where are the others, then?” he asks. There’s no way he’s doing this and letting anyone else get out of it.

 

A wide grin spreads across Liam’s face, making his eyes crinkle, and goddamnit, he’s too adorable for even Louis to let down. “Harry and Niall went and got their own last week! They’re proper excited for it, it’s gonna be great, I promise.”

 

With a dramatic, long-suffering sigh, Louis turns his head to seek out the dressing rooms - although he is a bit skeeved by the idea of trying them on before they get a good go-round through the laundry. He can’t help but wish for just a second that they’d all gone, instead of splitting into two groups. Things are always a bit more tolerable when Harry is around. But only because he indulges Louis’ dramatics, of course. 

 

“Alright, let’s get on with this, then,” he prompts, his feet taking him in the direction of the shop that looks the most promising for a dressing room. (The racks are a bit tall, okay, it’s just a little hard to see the signs. Not that Louis would admit that to Liam, of course.) “But I get to pick which one you buy.”

 

Liam lets out a chuckle, his scrunched up expression not fading in the slightest, though his tone conveys a small hint of sarcasm. “Of course, Louis, I wouldn’t dream of leaving without your input.”

 

It earns Liam an elbow to the ribs, but he’s got to be used to Louis’ elbows by now, so Louis figures he’ll be forgiven.

* 

The room is quiet for a few minutes, the only sound the little _pat-pat-pat_ ’s of the two of them sifting through CD’s. Harry always wants to go straight for the vinyls, but Louis insists that ‘there needs to be a flow, Haz, you go to what you want last, and what you don’t want first, can’t just skip entire sections.’

 

“So,” Harry begins in his slow drawl, disrupting the companionable silence they had going. “You still haven’t told me what you want for your birthday.”

 

Louis scoffs as he pulls out an album he knew Harry had been looking for, setting it in front of his best friend. “My birthday is in a couple of days, and I know you already have a gift.” Yes, Harry has been asking him for weeks, but Harry _always_ starts asking right around the time he comes up with one on his own. He just likes to see if it lines up with what Louis wants, and Louis always gets suspicious enough that his gifts are less of a surprise. He refuses to participate in the guessing game this year. 

 

True to form, Harry begins his earnest argument after glancing at the album Louis had handed him, giving a small hum of appreciation. “But if it’s far from what you want, I’ll have to figure something else out. What if you hate it?”

 

Louis rolls his eyes, but his head is turned down so Harry probably doesn’t see. “I won’t hate it. You have never gotten me a poor gift in all the years I’ve known you. Don’t be such a donut.”

 

“I just-” Harry starts, but Louis cuts him off. He turns toward Harry, meeting his eyes to ensure he’s listening.

 

“Harry. You get me amazing gifts every year. They’re always my favorite - oh, shit, don’t tell Liam that - but I _promise_ it’ll be good.” He offers a small smile before turning back to the CD’s in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Harry go back to looking through albums as well. “Besides,” he continues, “what I _really_ need is to get laid, and I already know all of your friends so you have no one to suggest.” Dealing with his feelings wouldn’t be half as bad if he could function like a normal human adult. Panicking at the slightest thought of how he feels isn’t going to help him get over it any faster. He can’t help it, though, and as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he feels a bit off-kilter. He doesn’t _actually_ want to end up with someone. At least, not anyone but Harry. His blood begins to roar loudly in his ears, and he takes a step or two down the aisle to put a bit of distance between himself and his best friend. His best friend who he’s in love with, did he mention? Christ.

 

Louis doesn’t give Harry much time to reply before he’s tipping his head toward the back of the building. “Gotta wee,” he mumbles, offering up a half-smile, before he all but runs off, scolding himself internally on the way.

 

It’s stupid, really. A few months ago, he’d been watching movies on his sofa, Harry beside him. The man’s long limbs sprawled on every inch of the couch that Louis wasn’t on (and some that he was - there wasn’t much concept of personal space between the two of them). They were watching some dumb movie that Harry had chosen, something funny with a clichéed, romantic storyline. Harry was laughing, that loud awkward one he only does when there aren’t really other people around, mouth open a touch too wide and eyes bright. Louis had looked over at him and just thought, ‘I love him’. Simple as that.

 

Except not actually simple _at all._ Harry wanting him wasn’t an idea that he could realistically entertain - it was just a false hope that he made because once he realized his feelings, he also became aware of how _miserable_ it is to be in love with someone so close to you. Because Harry has been his friend for years, and never given Louis any reason to think he might want to be more. Everything he might’ve considered as a sign could be explained away by the fact that they were best friends, freakishly linked, or by Harry’s innate weirdness.

 

This trip to the record shop, for example, is a blessing and a curse. It’s amazing to go somewhere familiar with someone familiar and just spend time together. At the same time, though, it’s torture, walking up and down the aisles, unable to stop thinking about the way the light slants through the window and outlines Harry’s face, or imagining the two of them holding hands, something simple and domestic and gross but wonderful. 

 

 * 

The sound of a shoe heel knocking rhythmically against a cupboard door is strangely soothing, in Louis’ opinion.

 

Apparently, his friends disagree. As he kicks his foot with another soft _thunk,_ Zayn flinches a little, and Louis smirks when he sees that gorgeous jawline clench with irritation.

 

It probably doesn’t help that Louis is sitting on the most inconvenient chunk of counter he can while Zayn and Liam try to prepare snacks and drinks around him. It’s entertaining, though, and they don’t seem like they’re actually mad yet, so he doesn’t stop. He’s distracted from Zayn’s agitated movements by Niall stepping into the kitchen doorway. His eyes are on the ceiling, inspecting.

 

“Probably one here, too, H!” he calls, and jumps when Harry bumps into him from behind. “Shit, I didn’t know you were right behind me.”

 

Harry laughs a little bit and shakes his head, before stretching above Niall’s head. Louis watches the long line of Harry’s body as he reaches up and tapes a piece of mistletoe to the arch of the door, swallowing thickly against his churning stomach as Harry leans his entire body into Niall, who doesn’t even flinch, comfortable under the taller man’s weight. 

 

“What, is he your slave?” Louis asks, tense laughter in his tone. He fights to make his smile meet his eyes, not wanting the others to see his discomfort.

 

Niall shrugs a little and shakes his head, walking over to the counter and sticking half his arm into the chip bowl that Liam just finished preparing. “Nah, ‘e’s just tallest. Easier for ‘im, eh?” 

 

Louis hums noncommittally. “What do we need all that mistletoe for anyway? Isn’t one enough?”

 

There’s a snort from the doorway, and when Louis looks up, Harry’s face is a bit off-color. “Thought you wanted to get laid.” There’s a bit of bite to the words, and Louis’ jaw goes lax in surprise. 

 

“I-”

 

With a sudden wave of his hand, Harry shakes his head once and offers up an awkward laugh. “C’mon Niall, we might’ve missed a couple spots,” he says, before turning on his heel and walking promptly from the room. Niall gives Louis a confused shrug before following.

 

There’s a murmur to his right, and he looks up to see Zayn, but Zayn isn’t looking back at him. He’s looking over Louis’ head at Liam, and they’re doing that thing where they talk with their eyebrows. 

 

“What?” Louis demands, and when he gets nothing in response, he whips around to stare at Liam. _“What?”_

 

Busying himself with a bowl of some snack Louis doesn’t care to discern, Liam just keeps his eyebrows up by his hairline. “Nothing. That was weird is all.”

 

Louis reaches into the bowl and flings some of its contents up against Liam’s chest, before hopping from the counter and retreating alone to the living room.

 

 * 

Liam and Zayn are making out. _Again._ Honestly, they must have gone through every sprig of mistletoe twice by now. It’s getting increasingly more obscene as the night goes on and everyone gets closer and closer to pissed. Liam has Zayn pressed back against the doorway, and Louis knows he’s staring. It’s weird, though, how he can’t seem to pull his eyes away. 

 

He must be drunk.

 

“How long you think they can keep it up without breathing?” he asks, but when he looks to his side there’s no one there. Had there been someone before? Louis can’t quite remember. He looks at the glass of mulled wine in his hand and downs the rest of it quickly, setting the glass on the nearest table.

 

When he jumps on Liam’s back, the man grunts, instinctively dropping his arms from his boyfriend in order to get a grip on Louis’ legs. Zayn gives an undignified squeak. “You bit me!”

 

Liam leans forward a bit, getting extremely close to Zayn’s face to say, “sorry babe, not my fault this menace doesn’t know personal space.” He looks like he’s going to go in for another kiss, and Louis can’t have that. He’s _right here_ for chrissakes, chin resting on Liam’s shoulder. He squeezes his legs and knocks his head into the side of Liam’s own. It’s a bit harder than he maybe intended, but oh well, it does the trick.

 

Grunting, Liam hops a little to hoist Louis up higher on his back. He hadn’t realized he was even slipping. Liam’s a good kid. He starts petting his hair, hoping it conveys the sentiment. 

 

“What do you want, Lou?”

 

Louis thinks for a second. Zayn is watching him, and he looks thoroughly kissed, which is entirely unfair. _Louis_ wants to be thoroughly kissed, damnit. He hasn’t had a good snog in ages.

 

He doesn’t say this out loud, of course.

 

“Presents!” he yells suddenly, somewhat too loud considering his proximity to Liam’s ear. “I want my presents.”

 

Zayn just rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling just a little at the corner of his mouth. “Impatient, aren’t you? Not until tomorrow. We agreed.” 

 

Liam nods, “In the morning, yeah? I’m making breakfast and we’ll have the presents.”

 

Feeling like a child attempting to argue with his parents, Louis is about to press the issue. It’s only as he hops down from Liam’s back that he remembers that Liam and Zayn aren’t the friends to convince - it’s _Harry_ that can’t ever say no. 

 

He’s about to run off to find the aforementioned gift-holder when Zayn grabs his arm. As if reading his mind, he quietly chides, “don’t even think about asking Harry. He left your gift at his house anyway.”

 

Louis can feel his brow furrowing. “Why?”

 

Zayn shrugs and looks away as noise roars up in the kitchen. “Probably to keep you out of it.” With that, he releases Louis’ arm and shuffles toward the source of the noise, probably worried someone is breaking something. 

 

Turning to survey the room, Louis sways on his feet for a second before he spots Harry leaning against a doorjamb, almost lost in the sea of obnoxious jumpers. He blinks a few times to focus his eyes - yeah, definitely time to lay off the wine for the night - and begins toward the other man. He suddenly feels like he hasn’t seen Harry all night and he’s got to correct this issue immediately. 

 

As he’s on his way over, he watches one of Niall’s guitarist friends - who isn’t even _wearing_ a jumper, what the hell - shove him into the doorway that Harry is loitering under. Niall is laughing loudly, his face turning a tiny bit red with it. Or is he blushing? Louis isn’t positive. He can’t hear what the people around them are saying, but he can understand that they’re trying to get the two to kiss. His lungs squeeze as he watches Harry hunch down a little. He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath, though he must have been because he releases it, when Harry pulls back, having placed only a quick peck on the corner of Niall’s mouth.

 

This doesn’t seem to appease the people around them, because a strong chorus of ‘boo’s goes up. Niall reaches out to slap the nearest guy on the chest, but it’s gentle, friendly, and he’s grinning widely. He looks up at Harry and shrugs, leaning up on his toes as Harry dips his head again, shoulders shaking with what Louis assumes is laughter. 

 

Louis doesn’t remember giving his body the instructions to move, but nonetheless he’s across the room in a split second. He throws himself up against the two, his friends - his friends who were about to _kiss,_ and suddenly he’s at a loss. Moments ago his mind was stuck, flashing the word ‘NO’ in blinding neon lights, but now that he’s here, he’s got no excuse for the interruption. 

 

When he looks around, he finds eyebrows raised in his direction. Niall still has laughter written on his face, but Harry is looking down at him expectantly. Louis feels like it takes hours for him to react, but it’s probably only a few seconds. 

 

He leans up and kisses Harry. 

 

He means to pull away after only a moment. He does. But once he’s got their lips pressed together, he finds no resistance, and kissing under the mistletoe is pointedly not funny when you’re kissing someone you actually want to. 

 

Harry’s lips are soft, just like Louis expected them to be. His brain short circuits just a little as they move, soft and slow, against Louis’ own. 

 

When he finally drops back down onto his heels, Harry has a hand resting warmly on his hip. Louis has a stupid grin on his face. He can feel it stretching his lips wide, and he clears his throat, attempting to tame it as much as he can. 

 

“What?” he mutters, swaying into Harry a bit as he whips his head around to stare back at the people standing around. They all shrug and allow their attention to drift back to the party. Louis looks for Niall but he’s gone as well. When he looks toward Harry again, he’s hit by the flush high on his neck, and the way his eyes are wider than normal. He must be drunk too, Louis thinks. 

 

He clears his throat and stands as straight as he can, declaring the first thing that comes to mind, “I came for a piggy-back ride.”

 

Harry stares for another moment, blinking, before he smiles. “Go get Liam, then. He’s stronger.”

 

Louis shakes his head. “He put me down. Wouldn’t give me my presents. You’d give me my presents, wouldn’t you?” he asks nonsensically, forgetting the fact that his gift from Harry isn’t even on the premises. Harry just hums and nods, before turning around and squatting in order to present his back to Louis.

 

“Anything you want, Lou.”

 

 * 

Harry hasn’t left Louis’ side all night. Or maybe Louis hasn’t left Harry’s. Either way, once Louis latched on after the mistletoe fiasco, Harry quickly adjusted to toting Louis around for the remainder of the party. He even convinced Louis to drink some water, showing no signs of annoyance with Louis’ drunken antics. Even when he tried to get on the coffee table and sing Mariah Carey songs, Harry just laughed and hoisted Louis over his shoulder, removing him from the elevated surface. Which, in hindsight, was probably for the best. It was a glass-topped table, after all. Louis isn’t heavy, but the table might not have been able to support his weight for long, especially if he got the bright idea to start dancing.

 

He’s also put up pretty well with the fact that Louis might be flirting. A little. Louis is hoping it comes across as his normal level of freakish closeness with Harry, and not like he’s fucking out of his mind in love with the kid. If some of that bleeds out, well, good thing he’s drunk. Plenty enough reason to misplace the blame of his behavior. It doesn’t help at all that Harry runs hot, like a human furnace. He loses his sweater not long after Louis begins hanging off him. He’s got a plain white top on underneath, and having his arms out with all those tattoos on display, well, nobody can really blame Louis for wanting to touch, just a little.

 

It’s well into the early hours of the morning by the time people start to really clear out. Louis is pretty drowsy, and it’s almost making him feel like he hasn’t sobered up at all regardless of all the water he’s had over the past two hours. 

 

He’s sitting on the sofa, watching Liam walk around the flat, grabbing all the dishes that need to get washed. It’s funny that he’s worrying about dishes at three in the morning, but that’s Liam. He’d rather get it taken care of now than worry about it later. Harry’s following him around with a rubbish bag, tossing plastic cups into it as he goes.

 

Louis blinks when a warm hand shakes his shoulder, glancing around the room, which is suddenly much cleaner than it was a moment ago. From the way Harry is looking at him, he must have fallen asleep for a short while. Harry’s giving him this fond look, gaze soft around the edges. “C’mon,” he urges, straightening up to give Louis room. “Off to bed.”

 

Louis snuffles a bit, shoving his fingers haphazardly through his hair before standing. His head feels heavy, his tongue too thick in his mouth. Sleep sounds just about perfect now that he’s thinking about it. He leans heavily into Harry’s side, letting the taller man guide him toward the extra bedroom (with a pit stop to the toilet, because he really did drink a lot of water). Thank god he claimed it at the beginning stages of this whole thing, so he doesn’t have to sleep in the living room. 

 

Reaching their destination after far too long a walk, Louis drops face first onto the bed, his body not even landing high enough on the mattress to bury his head in a pillow. Harry makes a soft _‘tsk’_ sound with his tongue. “If I let you sleep in those jeans you’ll be cross with me tomorrow. Up you go.”

 

Louis grunts, offering no further response. After a few moments of patient silence, Harry lets out a heavy sigh and steps closer to Louis. He pushes at his hip until he finally gives in and rolls over, his long fingers reaching for the button and zip of Louis’ admittedly tight pants. Louis doesn’t lift his hips at all to help, so Harry has to lean over him in order to get the leverage he needs. He grunts a little, the puff of air washing over Louis’ neck. This close, Louis can tell how good he smells. He noticed it earlier, but was too distracted by other things to register how much he likes it.

 

“Y’smell good,” he mumbles. He bends his knees a little to help Harry get the jeans past his feet, deciding that the process is taking too long. Harry hums in response and straightens up, but he doesn’t go anywhere right away, just stands and watches Louis’ face. Louis is having trouble keeping his eyes open, so he just curls onto his side and extends one arm, fingers spread as he reaches for Harry. “G’na get in or not?” He wiggles his fingers in an effort to beckon the taller man to him. 

 

Harry shifts a little, his eyes darting around the room. He breathes in, then out, but doesn’t say anything or otherwise move. Louis’ eyes close of their own accord for a few moments, and when he manages to open them again, he prompts Harry with a soft _'hmm?’._ He hasn’t moved an inch. 

 

“Haz?” he asks, and Harry’s body visibly tenses, the muscles in his shoulders and jaw going taut for a second. He shakes his head a bit and takes a step back.

 

“No, I’m gonna- um. Share the sofa with Niall. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

Louis frowns, lifting his head a bit off the mattress. He doesn’t get why Harry isn’t sleeping with him - it’s not like it would be the first time. And what is with him and Niall being attached to each other all the time lately? “You’re too big for that sofa as it is, y’won’t fit with him too. C’mon, stop being weird.”

 

Harry sighs. “I don’t- you’ve just been a little.. I dunno, I don’t think it’s a good idea. S’not a big deal.” He sounds shy, and a bit upset.

 

Louis huffs and rolls away from Harry to face the wall, swallowing against the ball forming in his throat.

 

“Fine,” he mutters, curling his knees up toward his stomach. He feels stupid, having sort of figured they’d end up in the same bed like they always do, and that he’d get to wake up with Harry’s arm slung heavy over his waist, his warm breath tickling the back of his neck. It’s probably one of Louis’ favorite feelings. He always wakes up feeling so well-rested.

 

He probably should have understood his feelings a lot sooner than he has, really. It’s pretty obvious when he thinks about it now. Harry’s probably caught on, and that’s why he’s acting weird. God, Louis has fucked everything up with these stupid feelings. He curls his fingers toward his palms, fists clenching as he works to keep his breathing steady. He shouldn’t have had so much alcohol. It always makes everything feel so much more overwhelming than it might actually be. He suddenly wants very badly to be asleep. 

 

Harry stands in the room a moment longer, before letting out a loud breath and promptly exiting. The door closes gently behind him, and it makes Louis’ stomach clench more that it would’ve had he slammed it. Being treated with care when he’s upset just makes everything worse. He feels rejected, and it’s stupid, he knows it is, but he can’t help it. 

 

Thankfully, mercifully, Louis is tired enough that he doesn’t stay awake _terribly_ long wallowing.

 

 * 

When Louis wakes up in the morning, he isn’t as hungover as he thought he would be. Of course, Harry’s insistence on water must have saved him from feeling like the human embodiment of death. 

 

At the mere thought of him, Louis groans. He almost wishes he had a dizzying migraine - at least it would allow him to focus on something other than how much of a tit he made of himself last night. The worst part is that thinking back on it, he wasn’t really acting too different than normal. It must have just been the kiss that had Harry feeling weird. But he’s confused - Harry had taken care of Louis for the rest of the night, right? He’s hurt, too, and if he’s honest he’s a bit pissed off. He doesn’t really have a good reason why, just knows that his best friend should have slept with him last night. Not on the sofa. Not on the sofa _with Niall._

 

After staring at the ceiling for a while,wishing he didn’t have to leave the bed, Louis decides it’s time to get up and face the day. He stretches his back as he sits up, allowing himself to relax minutely with each satisfying pop. Retrieving them from the floor where Harry discarded them, he pulls his jeans up over his hips, buttoning them as he heads out of the bedroom. Once the door is open, he can smell food cooking, and he’s hit with a sudden, overwhelming wave of hunger.

 

The scent leads him to the kitchen, where he finds Liam at the stove, cooking away. Zayn is at the sink, cleaning up dishes that were presumably used by Liam only moments ago for pancake batter, cleaning as his boyfriend dirties things. It’s cute, sickeningly domestic, and Louis’ stomach does a weird somersault that he’s definitely going to blame on last night’s eggnog. When he lifts his head, Zayn smiles and pauses his cleaning to reach over and pick up a mug, handing it to Louis. With a grateful smile and a dip of his head, Louis moves toward the living room to wait for breakfast.

 

It isn’t until he’s already four steps into the room that he remembers why he was reluctant to come out of the guest bedroom, and it hits him like a slap to the face. 

 

Niall is awake. He’s lying on his side, curled up, his head against the arm of the sofa, phone about two inches from his face. Harry, on the other hand, is asleep. He’s sprawled out, one leg hanging off the end of the couch, the other fallen to the side, socked foot resting against the carpet of the floor. It looks like his head was at one point against Niall’s thigh or maybe even in the crook of his knee, but he’s moved enough that his neck is bent at an awkward angle, hair a mess, head squeezed between Niall’s arse and the back cushion of the sofa. It looks uncomfortable as hell, and he also looks fucking gorgeous. Like he fits just right in his body, if not in that position. Louis quickly does an about-face, hoping his presence hasn’t been noticed yet. He’ll have to help Zayn with cleanup if he goes back to the kitchen, but he’d really rather be put to work than have to make friendly conversation with Niall at the moment.

 * 

Harry must be able to tell that Louis isn’t happy, because he has yet to say anything to Louis directly. He’s grunted, made fleeting eye contact, directed questions with his gaze, but he hasn’t aimed any actual words at him. He’s visibly unsettled, like he’s confused as to why Louis isn’t talking to him, even though he’s going along with it anyway. He shouldn’t be confused, honestly, he’s the one who ditched Louis. The reason for being upset seems pretty clear cut, in Louis’ eyes. Louis is trying not to give into the sad-puppy look, though he can admit that it’s a struggle. Harry’s had years to perfect it, after all, and Louis doesn’t think it has ever _not_ worked on him. 

 

Oh well. First time for everything, and all that. 

 

At least the others are filling up the silence quite well. Louis is happy to talk to them, but he sure as hell isn’t going to speak to Harry first. He feels silly, _knows_ he’s being ridiculous and immature, but he can’t help it. He’s in love with his best friend. And, as of late, he’s unjustly jealous of their mutual best friend. He feels like he deserves some slack for that. It’s quite a lot to handle.

 

Liam’s talking, has been for a few minutes, when his phone rings shrilly from the pocket of his sweatpants. He’s right in the middle of a sentence about something - the game, Louis thinks. He looks confusedly down at the screen, before offering his boyfriend a patented Zayn-and-Liam eyebrow message, and then walking out of the room. 

 

There’s a lull in the conversation until Liam comes back. Louis swipes a bite of sausage through the leftover syrup on his plate and shoves it into his mouth to avoid speaking, and the others seems just as happy to eat in silence. Louis can’t tell if it’s uncomfortable to everyone, or if he’s projecting.

 

“Sorry, lads,” Liam announces as he walks back into the room. “I’ve got to run to work for a few hours. It’s an emergency.” He turns apologetic eyes toward Louis, who waves a hand in response. “Presents later?”

 

Louis nods, takes a sip of water. “It’s fine, mate. What time should we all come back?”

 

Zayn shakes his head. “Can’t. Roommates are coming back in a little while. Can we go somewhere else?” He looks at Louis first, then turns his eyes to the other two people in the room. Niall doesn’t say anything right away, so Harry does.

 

“Yeah, we can do mine. Seven tonight? Give everyone time to shower, get ready.”

 

Louis swallows, hard, but he isn’t going to argue. He can handle this. He _can._ Dwelling on unrequited feelings isn’t going to do either of them any good.

 * 

Once Liam is getting dressed for work and Zayn has retired to the living room, Louis, Harry and Niall all head out of the building to go to their respective flats. If he’s honest, Louis is a bit grateful that Harry doesn’t have to go the same direction as him. He kind of just wants to be alone. (Though, deep down, he wishes Harry was heading the same direction as him, because right now he’s heading the same direction as _Niall._ )

 

He’s about halfway down the block before he hears familiar stumbling steps behind him. He glances over his shoulder and is met with the sight of Harry, bundled in a fluffy knitted scarf, lumbering awkwardly as he hurries to catch up. Louis hunches his shoulders up a little and shoves his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat, unsure whether or not he’s relieved at this turn of events.

 

“Hey,” Harry offers lamely once he’s right next to Louis, who only offers a _‘Hmm’_ in response. It’s the first thing either of them has said to one another this morning.

 

“D’you want to, er, come over a little early? To my flat?” he asks, and Louis bites the tip of his tongue to keep all his thoughts quiet. 

 

“I dunno, H, v’got a bit of a hangover.” It isn’t a total lie, but it’s sure as hell a strong exaggeration. “Why?”

 

Harry’s entire body slumps at the decline of his offer. He feels a little bad about it. “I just want to give you your gift, but, without the others there.”

 

Louis shivers a bit, and he’s glad that he can blame it on the low temperature and the snow collected beneath their feet. “Why can’t you give it to me with everyone else?”

 

Harry shrugs, clears his throat. He opens his mouth as if to say something, snaps it shut like he thinks better of it, and then opens it again. “Don’t want to, is all. It’d be like the way we used to do your birthday gifts. Just us two.”

 

And fuck if Louis’ heart doesn’t stop when he hears that. His feet keep moving, though, one in front of the other, and he lets out a slow breath, quietly so Harry won’t hear. ‘Just us two,’ Jesus, he _has_ to be clueless about Louis’ feelings, because honestly, who says that? He’s a bit unsure about going early. It probably isn’t a great idea, not with all these emotions waiting to burst through his chest. He wants to make an excuse, try harder to get out of this, but when he peeks out of the corner of his eye, Harry has his head hung low between his shoulders. He’s staring at the ground, and Louis can see his teeth working at his lower lip. He doesn’t get why Harry is being so weird about this, why he wants Louis alone, but - well. As hard as it might be, Louis is a bit of a sucker for getting alone time with him.

 

After a long moment, Louis nods a bit and offers a tight smile in Harry’s direction, though it softens when their eyes meet. Harry almost looks sad, and it’s worse than the puppy-dog eyes from earlier. This is genuine. “Alright, Haz,” he agrees. “Just let me take a nap first, yeah? I’ll come over after.”

 

Harry grants him a dazzling grin, eyes squinting with the force of it. “Great!” he breathes, relief evident in his voice. “I’ll see you in a while, then.” He slows to a stop and turns to head back in the other direction, toward his own flat. “Bye, Lou!”

 

Louis hates what that grin does to his chest, and loves it at the same time. He bites down on his own smile and continues his walk home, an anticipatory spring in his step. 

 

 * 

Louis feels better after having slept for a few hours and taken a long, hot shower. Less like he needs to freeze Harry out, sulk in his own emotions. He’s determined not to let his feelings fuck up his longest friendship. He feels stupid, embarrassed, having acted the way he did this morning. It isn’t Harry’s fault that Louis is acting this way - that he kissed him, that he’s _jealous._ It’s even worse that Harry isn’t his to be jealous of. He vows not to let it get the best of him again. 

 

His cell beeps at him just as he steps out of his building. It’s Liam, saying he’s not out of work quite yet, so they might be late and that Niall is coming over with them, apologies for the delay. Louis texts him back, reminding him to leave the camera at home. He’s wearing his glasses and doesn’t want himself looking like a twat all over the internet. He knows that isn’t going to stop Liam, but it makes him feel a bit better to have made the effort.

 

He stays focused on his phone, doesn’t allow himself to get nervous until he’s in front of Harry’s door. He’s not - it’s going to be _fine_ , he’s sure. Still, there’s a bit of lingering shame about how standoffish he was this morning. He tamps that thought down, takes in a deep breath, and knocks three times. 

 

When Harry opens the door, he’s got one hand tangled in his unruly hair and a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. He should look silly, but, as usual, he’s breathtakingly beautiful. Louis has to school his face into a friendly expression rather than one of pure adoration, and he receives a toothpaste-laden smile for his troubles. 

 

“Why’d you have me come early if you weren’t going to be ready?” he teases as he steps through the doorway. Harry’s cheeks pink, so slight that it’s almost unnoticeable, and he tries to say something around the toothbrush that doesn’t come out sounding like any coherent language.

 

Louis barks a laugh, which prompts Harry to join him in it. He watches his shoulders shake with it as he heads all the way down the hall to the bathroom. 

 

Harry comes back to the front room a few moments later, face free of wayward toothpaste, and he wraps Louis in a hug. It helps Louis relax, get himself into a good headspace. It is _Harry,_ after all. There’s no need to freak out. He doesn’t let things get awkward. They’ll be just fine. 

 

“Li said they’ll be a little bit late,” he informs Harry once they separate. He shuffles a few steps to the side so that he can plop down on the sofa, careful not to trip over the coffee table.

 

“I know,” Harry responds, moving to follow Louis. He’s obviously not cautious enough, though, because he knocks his shin into the corner of the table. He only winces a little, but really, with how clumsy he is, Louis’ seen him do much worse. “He texted right before you got here and said he was leaving work.”

 

Louis offers a nod of understanding, pausing only a moment before shoving his cold toes between Harry’s slim thigh and the cushion of the sofa. “Tell me all my presents from them, then, no time to waste. Liam’s face’ll turn that really great color if I know ‘em all before I get them.”

 

Harry giggles, curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “Not gonna happen, Lou, I swore I wouldn’t give in this year. You can have mine, though,” he assents, and gives Louis’ ankle a gentle pat before he gets up and disappears down the hall once again. 

 

Cold without Harry’s body heat, Louis tucks both of his legs underneath himself and picks up his phone, scrolling through twitter while he waits for the other man to come back.

 

Harry’s holding something thin and rectangular at his side when he returns, fingers gripping it tightly. It’s a good size, but pretty flat. Louis’ mind instantly begins running through possibilities - a poster, or maybe some sort of cheeky fake certificate. The package is offered to him and as he takes it, he glances up to Harry’s face - which is just a bit more pink than normal. He’s using his other hand to play with his lower lip, and the color of his blush deepens marginally while Louis watches. Louis raises an eyebrow at him, and he hovers for a moment before finally taking his place on the couch. 

 

“What is it?” he asks, as though he isn’t about to tear into it and find out himself in a few moments. One side of Harry’s mouth twitches up into a smile, and he’s glancing between Louis and Louis’ gift repeatedly. 

 

“Open it and see.”

 

Louis does as he’s told. He starts by slipping his fingers underneath the tape on the wrapping paper - the design is a bunch of tiny kittens, what the hell Harry - making sure to keep the paper intact wherever possible. Once he’s got all of it undone, he opens the folds of kitten faces and turns the object to look at the front of it, and -

 

It’s Harry. Well, it’s himself and Harry, actually. It’s a drawing, but it’s to life-like it could almost be a photo. The two-dimensional version of himself is laughing, head tipped back somewhat. Nothing to fuss over - just Louis. Harry’s face, though. It’s _beautiful._ He’s looking at Louis, eyes squinted, laughter evident in his expression. Louis finds his fingers poised to trace the lines of Harry’s eyes, but doesn’t want to smudge the graphite, so he lets them hover over the paper without making contact. Harry looks focused, almost like he’s in awe. The fondness in the image is nearly too much to handle, makes Louis’ chest tighten, and for a moment he’s worried he might cry. He focuses instead on other parts of the picture.

 

Beside each other in a booth, the two of them are seated in a coffee shop. Probably the one on the edge of town, Louis thinks. They found it together around this time last year, when they took a walk one day, wandering aimlessly for hours. He doesn’t even know how they managed to stay out so long, but it might be one of Louis’ favorite memories. Harry had been so happy that day, cheeks red with the cold in the air and eyes bright every time they made eye contact. Not for the first time, Louis’ is hit with the notion that he should’ve known how he felt about Harry years ago.

 

In the drawing, he and Harry are leaning in toward each other, as if gravity existed to pull the two of them together, instead of toward the earth. There are other people in the shop, though they’re out of focus, simply placeholders in the background of the piece. Louis is hit suddenly with the realization that this scene actually happened. Down in the corner of the image is Zayn’s messy signature, and Louis knows that this must be what he and Harry look like when they’re together. Happy. Fond. Judging by the length of his own hair in the image, it must have taken place only a month or so ago. Just enough time for Zayn to draw it up and Harry to present it to him. 

 

He doesn’t realize he’s been silent for probably far too long until Harry starts talking. 

 

“I hope you like it,” he starts, and Louis has to fight to roll his eyes because _how could he not_ , “I was a bit nervous to give it to you. Um. Y’know, like,” he mumbles, licking his lips as he takes the time to attempt to find the right words - something he does often. Louis has always found it strangely endearing. “You’re my best mate, no matter what,” he continues. Louis heart clenches for a moment. Mate. Louis got so caught up in the drawing that he kind of - well, whatever. Friends. Okay. He tries to focus on what Harry’s saying, swallowing down the emotions rushing through him. 

 

“-just that it’s your birthday again, and we’ve known each other for years, and sometimes I wonder if you’re thinking what I am. I was so scared though, right, but I don’t want to be scared anymore. I don’t know if I can go another year and still feel this way. I don’t want to get to your next birthday, another whole year, without at least trying, y’know?” He’s staring into Louis’ eyes, earnest emotion written on his face. Louis isn’t entirely sure if he missed a big enough part of that or if Harry just isn’t making sense. Either option is entirely likely right now.

 

Shaking his head a little to clear it, he leans forward to show that he’s paying attention. “What?”

 

Harry sighs, ending it with a small sound of self-deprecating laughter. “I’m, like, so in love with you, Louis,” he says in his slow drawl, and Louis can feel the color draining from his face. Holy _shit._ “I have been for a while and I didn’t want to make it weird for you, or for the lads, but I had to try. It’s hard sometimes and I just.. I had to at least make the effort. I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t - shit. This is probably weird. I’m so sorry.” He’s starting to babble, words running together as the pitch of his voice rises. 

 

Louis gapes at him for a few beats too long. Harry is nervously running his hands through his hair, pushing it to one side and then the other over and over. Louis reaches out and puts a hand on his arm, and he stills. He looks terrified, eyes wide. Louis laughs.

 

Hurt flashes across Harry’s face for a moment before his brows drop, defensive, and Louis backtracks as quick as he can. “Haz, I’m - are you sure? Because, like, me too. In love with you. For a while. It’s been -” he stops, tries to organize his train of thought, before he interrupts himself. “Why wouldn’t you stay with me last night?” He panics, briefly, wondering if Harry’s trying to pull one over on him. If he wanted Louis back, why would he leave - and to share the couch with _Niall,_ no less. The guy snores.

 

“You said, before, you said you wanted to get laid,” Harry mumbles, and his nose scrunches up in distaste. He shrugs and looks down for a moment. “I thought you were just drunk, wanted to be close to a body. I didn’t want to start thinking things that weren’t true, so I just.. stayed away.”

 

Louis sets the drawing on the coffee table and leans in to rest his forehead against the point of Harry’s shoulder. “I was- I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t matter now. I wanted you. Always. Want you.” He isn’t sure if he’s making complete sense, knows that his sentences are stilted and incomplete, but he has faith that Harry will understand. He always does. 

 

He feels Harry’s warm cheek against the side of his head and lets out a long breath. 

 

“So, this is real? You and me?” he asks, and he knows his voice sounds small. It’s just that this is all he wants, all he has wanted, and he doesn’t know if he could handle a misunderstanding right now. 

 

Warm, slender fingers touch gently under his chin, and he lifts his head to look Harry in the face. “If you want it to be. Yes.”

 

Louis’ eyes move from holding Harry’s gaze down to his pink lips, worried by anxious teeth. Taking in a deep breath, he nods, steels himself, and leans forward. 

 

Louis knows just how much of a cliche it is to fall for your best friend. Though he won’t admit it to most, he’s seen an unholy number of romantic comedies in his lifetime (most of which were Harry’s choice, looking back), so he knows that there probably aren’t fireworks going off or romantic music playing softly in the background. But he can’t deny that he can feel something going on. This doesn’t feel like how he’s kissed anyone before. Maybe it’s the build-up, maybe it’s because it’s someone he’s known so long. More than likely, it’s _Harry._ His best friend. That he’s in love with. 

 

He might explode if his heart doesn’t give out under the weight of his emotions right now. The kiss is gentle, tentative at first. Louis hasn’t had a kiss this chaste in _years_ , but he’s taking the time to learn the way Harry feels, the way he moves against Louis so slowly and sweetly. It seems like ages before he feels the tip of Harry’s tongue brush against his lower lip, but as soon as it happens, Louis forgets about all the endless moments that it _wasn’t_ happening. He’s completely arse-over-tit right now, and after another handful of long minutes spent kissing, he’s smiling too hard to continue, lips stretched thinly over his teeth.

 

When he pulls back, Harry’s smiling too, eyes half-lidded with a faint blush dusting the tops of his cheekbones. There’s a smudge on the lense of Louis’ glasses where Harry’s nose kept bumping them. A giggle bursts out of him unexpectedly, and it isn’t long before they’re both falling all over each other, grinning like idiots and touching wherever possible. It’s probably weird, the amount of time they spend just staring at each other like complete saps, but Louis doesn’t particularly care, and anyway, Harry doesn’t seem to mind either. 

 

It isn’t long before they’re kissing again, like they can’t get enough of each other, which, _obviously._ It’s right when Louis plants his lips high on Harry’s neck, just below the junction of his jaw, that their bubble is popped by a heavy knock on the door and Niall’s laughter from the hall. Louis sighs, pouting a little when, after a brief pause and a quick kiss for the road, Harry gets up to answer the door. 

 * 

Zayn hasn’t stopped eyeing either of them since he walked through the door. At first Louis was ignoring it, but it’s beginning to get annoying. And creepy. It’s been almost two hours of constant watching when Louis finally raises an eyebrow at him across the bowl of popcorn and snips, _“What?”_

 

This earns him a shrug, but Louis isn’t fooled. There’s a look in his eye. “Nothin’, mate.”

 

Louis huffs, squirming a little. The motion jostles Harry, who puts his hand on Louis’ knee for the leverage to right himself, and then leaves it there. Zayn snickers. 

 

“Fucking _what,_ Zayn?” He gripes, and he can feel a blush creeping up his neck even though he doesn't know exactly why. He hates being talked about without knowing the details. 

 

“You two,” Zayn offers, and Louis is going to complain about how fucking _vague_ that is, but thankfully the man continues. “Look proper cozy there.” Okay, maybe not thankfully. Louis glances to Harry, worried - what if he doesn't want the others to know yet? What if he’s embarrassed? 

 

His fears are squashed when he sees the look on Harry’s face. He’s got on a sheepish smile, but it’s wide and genuine. He gives Louis’ knee a little squeeze and confirms Zayn’s words with a quiet but sure, “Yeah.”

 

Louis feels his heart flutter, and he grins, leaning to press his lips against the tip of Harry’s shoulder, not quite a kiss. For just a short moment, he almost manages to forget that anyone else is in the room until someone speaks. 

 

“‘Bout fuckin’ time. Y’almost broke me shoulder pushing me out the way las’night!” Niall complains, but he’s laughing as he says it. “As if I’d get b’tween you two lunatics.” 

 

Harry starts cackling, which just fuels Niall, who begins a play-by-play reenactment of the event, complete with a full-body tackle of Liam to the floor. By the end of it, everyone in the room is all but howling with laughter, Harry doing that corny knee-slap-laugh he does sometimes. 

 

Louis glances around the room, at the remnants of wrapping paper thrown around, gifts piled on the table from his friends, who have pulled Zayn into a three person wrestling match on the floor. He can feel the heat of Harry’s body to his left, one long line against him. He’s happy. In this moment he feels like the luckiest guy in the world, to have such amazing people in his life.

 

He gives this moment a full 30 seconds to play out, before diving headfirst into the tangle of bodies on the floor, determined not to let anyone get out of this showdown alive (or, really, just unruffled).

 * 

Having the conversation seems so simple now that it’s done. Louis can’t quite understand why he’d been so scared, why he’d talked himself out of every possible reason that Harry might have returned his feelings. It’s almost funny that all it took was for one of them to say something in order for them to get together.

 

Knowing this, though, doesn’t stop Louis from feeling nervous the instant their friends leave. As soon as the door clicks into place and Harry turns around, Louis feels an almost overwhelming wave of nerves crash over him. 

 

He breathes in deep through his nose. _Relax,_ he tells himself. _It’s just Harry._ Same as always. 

 

Harry makes his way back to the sofa where Louis is seated, and when Louis inspects his face, he sees the same bundle of nerves there. His shoulders release any tension they held, comforted by mutual anxiety, and he smiles. Harry blinks, then lets loose a grin.

 

“C’mon,” he says, softly, before glancing at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting late. Wanna go to bed? I won’t, uh,” he trails off at Louis’ raised eyebrow. After a beat of silence, he clears his throat and starts again. “I won’t leave you this time.”

 

Louis can’t help the smile that splits his face, and he holds his hand out for Harry to take, to help him stand up from the sofa. “Sure, H. That sounds lovely.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! This is the first fic I've ever had a deadline on, had edited, etc so I'm pretty excited and I hope everyone enjoyed. A big shout-out to [my girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiningdistractionwrites/pseuds/shiningdistractionwrites) for holding my hand all the way through this and essentially making the fic what it is. And a thank you to my [brit-picker](oiiiioiiii.tumblr.com) for helping get rid of my glaring Americanisms!


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